Image for Jason Day: Letter to my Younger Self

Dear 12-year-old Jason,

You’re laughing.

I’m telling you the truth, but you’re laughing.

There’s no chance, you’re thinking. No chance. You’re thinking I’m crazy. You’re thinking that nothing, right now, could be further from possible. You’re staring out at that vast, blue Beaudesert sky — it’s all sky — and you just can’t see it.

But trust me on this one.

You’re going to be the No. 1 golfer in the world.

No — I’m serious, mate. No. 1. The top of the mountain.

Give it 15 years.

You’re laughing. But not just laughing — I know that now.

You’re coping.

We all have to do it; we all have to cope. And we each do it differently based on the life that’s put in front of us.

You’ve had a tough one, lately, I know.

Since your dad passed … a lot has changed. You were there — actually, physically there. You watched him die. At 12 years old, to sit down and try to digest what happened … you haven’t been able to. You’re not going to be able to.

And that’s fine. That’s natural. But just know that this part will not be easy. This part will hurt, a lot.

With no way to look inward, you’re going to start to act outward. You’ll fall into trouble, increasingly. You’ll drink. You’ll get into fights.

As far as golf is concerned — you haven’t played for six months. Not since your dad’s cancer. Sure, you’ll still pick up your clubs sometimes. You’ll take your swings, maybe every other weekend, just to remember what that feels like. But it’s not the same with dad gone. It’s not, and it won’t ever be.

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